Sound of Silence(51)

"Fucker," he says, nodding in Stan's direction and asking for two beers. "I don't wear glasses."

I grab his neck and pull him in for a smacking kiss on his temple. He smells like soap and cedar. "You do when you don't have contacts in-time to spend some of that money on Lasik."

Dax mumbles about lasers and eyeballs not mixing. I tell him to shut up after three minutes-leave it to him to do too much research. We stay like this, blessedly silent amongst the chaos, leaning against the counter with my arm hanging over his shoulder for minutes. But tension is never far away.

When my gut churns and I can't ignore my pounding heart, I ask, "What do you know?"

He sighs. Breaking out of my reach, he turns to lean on the bar top. I drain my cold beer and follow suit.

"Astra kept hunting." I nod for him to go on when he looks at me. "The intel didn't end with what we found-it was buried under massive firewalls. He got back in and almost immediately the page crashed. More than crashed-it imploded. That's huge, Cade. No one programs their site to self-destruct the way this one did. Everything is gone. Whatever they had is now rewritten under different names that we can't find or the whole thing was eliminated. I don't buy that. The military knows something."

"That's all you got? We knew the government didn't want anyone to have the info; that's nothing new."

He pales, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle. "No, I have more. Astra retrieved details before he had to bail." Reaching in the pocket of his shirt, he pulls out folded papers. "I don't know how to tell you this so I'm giving you the report. But before I do, promise you won't freak out. You got me?"

The stare I level at him has sent men to their knees in surrender, but this fuck-head just shrugs, watching me like a hawk. "I have to make sure, Cade. I can see you're wound tight today, and in hindsight I should have waited. But if it was me, I'd want to know. You deserve to know."

"What in the actual fuck, Dax?"

"Be careful with this," he says, handing me his secrets. "Only talk to people you absolutely trust, Lawless. I have a feeling we hit a minefield."

I rip open his papers. A copy of the printed picture we took lies at the top of page one with facial recognition details below it. I scan over the initial summary on Asil Marik, information we already had but I slow down to take in the rest.



Caucasian male, aged between forty-five and fifty years. Features were run through criminal and military databases. One confirmed match. 99.9 percent positive identification.



The world tilts, shifting so far I gasp for air. Three words change the course of my life.

Gavin James Lawless.

Gavin fucking James Lawless.

I look up at Dax, stunned. The universe explodes around me as I rip past page one to the picture on the second. The jagged scar on his right cheek does not mask what I already know.

"He's alive." I don't expect Dax to agree-the proof lies beneath the caption I finish reading.



       
         
       
        



United States Navy Chief Petty Officer, Gavin James Lawless, last known location the Bamyan province, northern Afghanistan, December, 2015.



The month Justin died.

In the province the mission failed.

I was there.

I was fucking there.



Enlisted in October 2001, Lawless served in the United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group, also known as DEVGRU, also known as SEAL Team Six. Lawless was touted as dedicated and rose through the ranks quickly. According to these Naval records, Lawless first went AWOL and was later presumed dead.

DEVGRU information is classified and details on activities are not commented on by the White House, yet the Department of Defense was quick to label Lawless a traitor when he released widely classified information and smuggled state-of-the-art weaponry to Afghan rebels, defecting in 2004. He resurfaced in Afghanistan in February, 2015.



Traitor? Weapons? I glance at the crate of rifles in the first picture. Dad with his hand clasped in agreement with Marik.

Shots fired.

Thirteen casualties.

Thirteen soldiers.

But there were three more men who fell that day by a sniper's bullet: Axel, Justin, and then me. Sixteen men fell during that mission.

Not all of us made it out alive.

According to our calculations, rebel rounds shouldn't have been able to reach us from where they lay. The distance was too great, their guns too old. But if they had our technology, it would have been an easy shot.

Oh, fuck. My lungs constrict. I drown in the possibility. He wouldn't. My father couldn't betray his country, his team, his brothers, Justin or me by smuggling in guns. There's no way. Yet the evidence suggests it's true.